


Turtles

by sunflower1343



Series: Turtles [1]
Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: Angst, Dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-23
Updated: 2014-09-23
Packaged: 2018-02-18 11:28:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2346875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflower1343/pseuds/sunflower1343
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Asami and Takaba aren't open with each other. Everything important is hidden behind walls. Takaba pokes at Asami and inadvertently rips off both their shells and finds nothing but pain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Takaba's POV

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for the long note, but this story is a bit different in format so it needs a slight explanation. First, this is another story written in June, 2005, when Asami and Takaba didn't have all the history they do now. They didn't sleep together; Takaba had never tied Asami up. So some of us fans wondered what Asami would do if restrained. I thought that for all we knew, Asami could have some serious issues with it (of course now we know he does not). But I wrote this fic to play with that.
> 
> However, the ending that it came to was a little sad, so I wrote a coda for myself to cheer myself up. My beta sent the fic back and said she was depressed, so I sent her the coda. She told me I'd better not post the fic without it. **So this fic basically has two endings. The first stops at the end of this page and is for those who like angst, and the second for those who don't want it to end that way continues on in the coda.**
> 
> Then people wanted to know, since this was written in first person from Takaba's POV, what was going through Asami's mind. I wrote a second fic, mirroring the first line by line and took Asami apart, all the way through the first ending. But the coda for him required much more explanation so it doesn't mirror Takaba's coda but explains more. 
> 
> So, today, here is Turtles, with the coda stuck in as a chapter 2. Turtles 2 (an inspired name lol) will go up in a couple of days with the same format. I will warn you right now that the second fic is likely not what you expect.
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~

If there's one kind of western flavor I like it's the turtle. When I first heard of it, I admit I thought of Gamera, and that's really not appetizing. But Kou made me try some ice cream turtle style, and I was instantly hooked. The bitterness of the dark chocolate mixed with creamy sweet, slightly burnt caramels, then toasty pecans topping it off, were a perfect combination. All three flavors roasted and blended to sit on a sweet vanilla ice cream. 

If there's one way I'd like to have Asami, it's turtle style. He already has a tinge of bitterness, a burnt flavor coming from the cigarettes, and the toastiness from the scotch he likes. He already has the coldness too. He doesn't need more of that. What he needs is the sweetness, the sugar and vanilla. Only Asami won't go for anything like sugar and vanilla, so I have to plan carefully.

He never sleeps when we're together. He doesn't trust anyone enough to sleep near them, so I have to resort to drugs. He never expects that the tea I offer him contains a sleeping pill. He thinks he's too wily to fall for such a trick. I think it may mean that he trusts me to some extent. I borrowed some handcuffs from Kou. He has a large stash of such things. I don't even recognize some of them and I don't want to, though he was eager enough to explain. It's enough for me to understand that if I need any kink, Kou will have supplies.

I manage to cuff Asami's hands and feet to the bed, and wait for him to wake up. I know he'll be mad, so hopefully I can distract him enough that he'll forget about it for a while. He'll probably make me pay, so I have to make this worth it. Part of me wonders if I'm doing this because I'm looking forward to his punishment, but that's something I can think about another time because I hear him waking up.

He's awake and his eyes are glaring. There was some relief though when he saw it was me. I think he knows I won't hurt him. He's swearing and demanding that I let him go. He's struggling against the cuffs, trying to break free from the bed. His wrists are starting to bleed. He's like a wild animal, willing to bite his own leg off to get free of a trap.

I pet him, taking care not to put my hands near his mouth. I murmur soft words. I kiss and lick and rest my cheek against him. He calms a little. Some of the wildness goes out of his eyes. But it's replaced by cunning. His words are seductive promises now, smoldering and sensual, but all the more terrifying since they don't match his cold, cold eyes. I talk some more and tell him what I wanted, and why I did this. He is my fantasy, and I knew he wouldn't let me have such a thing, even such a harmless thing, willingly.

I tell him I expect punishment. That I know he'll pay me back. That it will be unpleasant. So he must understand that it's special to me, this night. That no one can give it to me but him.

He promises cooperation if I free him, but the cunning is still in his eyes. I'm sad as I tell him that I don't believe him, though I wish it were true. He makes me sad that there are so many lies in his words. For a moment, I rest my cheek against his chest and pretend that we're real lovers, and that he's here because he wants to be. But he speaks coldly once more, promising that I'll get nothing from him, and reality brings tears to my eyes.

It's natural for me to love. I can't help but care for the people I'm intimate with, or even for those I'm just acquainted with. I suppose you could say I love too easily because I love this man, this man with the ice cream heart. Only it just won't melt, not from hot fudge, not from warm tongues, not from raw heat, and certainly not from a warmhearted love. 

Tears scald my flushed cheeks. I raise my face and eyes to his, trying to thaw the frost I see there, but there's nothing, not even a reflection of me in the ice. I lift a tear from my face, bringing the fingertip to his lips, hoping the salt water might have an effect. He says they taste sweet to him. I move my face to his and let him lick them away, hoping to give him something he'll like.

I sit back, straddling his hips and look at him, knowing I'll never get another chance. I touch and caress him, no longer trying to give him pleasure, because I know he takes nothing from my touch if it's not forced. I touch him for myself, because I've longed to feel and taste his skin at my leisure. I breathe him in, rub against him, pretend he's touching my hair.

I get the ice cream, and place a scoop over his heart, just so I don't forget his coldness, then I ignore it licking down his body. I taste everything, from his toes to his ankles to the space behind his knees, to his thighs and his stomach and his ass. I track all the flavors, putting them into my mind, making sure they're there to remember. My fingers follow, skimming where my tongue has gone, gentle, teasing, memorizing texture. The next time I lay alone in this bed, he'll be with me.

The ice cream is melting, but it doesn't fool me. I grab the jars of warm chocolate and caramel, and swirl them across his torso and hips. Bittersweet is even more appropriate now. He is silent. He has been for some time. He knows that I'm not considering him anymore because I've realized it's pointless. He thinks I act only for my own pleasure and that I'm using him. Somehow, I think that my act is more acceptable to him that way than if I were to think of emotions. But he doesn't know that being who I am, the emotions are never far from me.

So it's no surprise that when I start to lick the trail of chocolate down his cock, that he begins to respond. Sex is fine. It's love that's forbidden. I keep the love hidden inside, like a turtle in its shell. I can tell I'm giving him pleasure as I suck his cock. After all, he taught me how to please him. I add some caramel to help it slide down my throat more easily. He grunts now, his thighs quivering as he strives to keep from thrusting into me, as if he's keeping me from knowing how he wants it. No sign of weakness or vulnerability is allowed. The fact that he's showing any tells me he thinks he has absolute control over me.

That makes me angry. Maybe I should show him otherwise. I get off my bed and go the closet and bring back a shoe. He's confused, I don't blame him. I pull the shoelace out and toss the shoe aside. Now he gets it and he's pissed again. I tie it around the base of his cock. He's not coming unless I let him, and he's not going to get soft because I don't want him to. I lower my head again and take him down my throat.

He's very still now. I can feel the fury radiating from him. The ice cream has melted off his chest, but within it the temperature has dropped even more. I don't care. I swipe my hand through the cream and bring it to his cock, coating it with heavy white stickiness. My tongue goes back to swirling the flavors. All it needs is a pecan. I grab once, break off a sliver, and stick in the end of his penis. Perfect. It looks like a birthday cake with a candle now. Asami sputters in indignation. I lower my head, remembering that first day he stuck the tube in me, then licked the head of my cock with that smug look. It made me so hot. I repay the favor to him, licking around the pecan, watching his eyes. 

There is heat in him now. It burns my skin. Heat at his pleasure, but mostly it's anger. The frigid cold has given way to a burning desire for revenge. I see it in his eyes. I wonder how many times he has fallen this far. They could probably be counted on one hand. I wonder how he intends to make me pay for making him lose his cool. He may even kill me. Strangely, I'm not alarmed. Most likely because it's too late to change things. I turn my mind back to my task, enjoying my treat, my turtle.

The pecan looks too inviting, I pluck it out with my teeth, crunching it, the roasted sweetness blending with his salty flavor. I crawl up his body. I want to kiss him, but I don't dare. I just look at him, look closely as he looks at me. I see his eyes move across my flushed cheeks to my lips. They stay at my lips for a while. I can tell they're swollen from working his cock, and they've covered in caramel and cream. I move my face closer and his tongue comes out and tastes them. I groan and shake, needing his participation more than I want to admit. He laps at them, pulling me closer, running his tongue down my jaw line. Just before I lean in for a kiss, something prompts me to look at his eyes. They're wild and full of hatred. I jerk my head back as his teeth snap inches from my throat.

Fuck. I sit back, shaking this time from fear. Now there's satisfaction in his eyes. He knows I understand the price I'm to pay. I ask him if I'm to pay that price and get nothing for it. Yes. He hisses the word. I no longer try to arouse him. If that's the price I'm going to pay, he's going to listen. I sit on his hips and begin talking. 

I talk about the first time I saw him, how I couldn't take my camera off him, how he captured my imagination. I talk about his rape of me, of the fear and the pain and the pleasure. He knows all about that though. Then I talk about afterwards, the humiliation and disgust at myself, the guilt that I'd enjoyed what he'd done. I tell him about Feilong, how it was the same but not. And how I knew what he had done to me afterwards was as much about helping me fight fear as it was staking a claim. I tell him how I masturbate thinking of him, of him taking me and touching me, how my thoughts are claimed by him and him alone. I tell him how I've tried looking at others and I feel nothing. I'm impotent with them. 

His eyes are still filled with satisfaction, but the cold is returning.

I talk about the time in the hotel room, how it bound me closer to him. How I felt like a whore, but how I knew it was to protect me as much as make me admit I was his. I tell him that I know he takes care of me in his own way, that while he can't show tenderness or emotion, he does show loyalty, and rewards it in others. I talk about Feilong again and tell him about the relief I felt when I saw him that day, the fear I felt when he was shot, and the joy in me when I knew he'd come to Hong Kong to reclaim me.

I talk about myself and how I grow attached to people, even those who have no feelings for me, just because I can't help it. But that while he's shown me very little, he's shown me enough. I tell him that I've come to love him deeply. I weep because I know my words have no effect, but if I'm to die, then I want him to hear them. His bound cock is still hard and I want to make love to him, even if it's one-sided. I tell him this, and I take him inside me in a thrust. I move on his cock, telling him how beautiful he is to me, even as cold and cruel as he can sometimes be. I remove the tie from him as I cum, and feel him flooding me with his seed. I lean forward to rest on his chest one last time, then go to get a cloth. I wipe him clean, all the chocolate and caramel and cream and cum gone. Then I unlock his cuffs and wait.

He sits up rubbing his wrists and stares at me as I sit quietly on the bed. He gets off the bed, puts on his clothes, and walks out without another word, another glance.

That's the last I ever hear from him. I sometimes see him around town, and he looks right through me. He's more cruel than I'd imagined. He's exacted the worst revenge, leaving me in my misery to love someone who no longer sees me. I eventually just pull back into my shell and watch the world go by, only seeing it in my viewfinder, my empty viewfinder.

 

~end~


	2. Coda

A few years go by, my friends drift off, no longer willing to put up with my maudlin ways. I never explain any of it to them. I stop talking and playing as much and as much as they try, I won't come out from behind the wall I've built. They grow tired and get on with their lives, while mine remains stagnant, rooted in the past.

My drive slips away. My jobs fall to a trickle. There isn't much call for photos full of shadows. But whatever used to light them is coated in thick cobweb-like layers that stick and build and limit what I see. I feel bad taking jobs that call for joyful pictures, weddings and parties and portraits, when I can't deliver. 

One day I put my camera away. I offer to pay back my landlady by doing odd work and cleaning around the building. She pats my arm and agrees, if I will agree to take pictures of her granddaughters birthday in a few months. I can't see far into the future, so it's easy to promise. I know she'll be relieved when I don't show up that day.

I still like to roam the streets of Tokyo. Nights are cool and I feel at home there. I don't ever do much, just walk and sometimes run. I run very fast through some parts of the city. People think something is chasing me but it never is. I like to feel cool wind threading through my hair, like a lover's touch. I go out all hours of the night until I feel tired enough to sleep.

And then one day, walking home, I see him again. A boy is on his arm, and he's smiling down at him. Smiling. The betrayal I feel is immense. It was one thing if he'd never love, but to find there's someone out there who got him to come out of his shell.... I freeze. I cannot move. My vision blurs from tears. And he looks straight at me. He speaks quietly to the boy, telling him to go home, and he walks up to me.

He puts his arms around me and holds me as I weep. He tells me that it was my words that day that eventually broke him down. That even as he hated me, he couldn't remove them from his mind. They ate at him, those words, a worm inside him, making little holes that left room for something else. Something that he found only in the hearts of others. But that the holes are never quite filled, because they only fit one person, the person whose words made them.

He turns my face up and wipes the tears from my face. I'm shaking, unable to believe this is happening, waiting for the punch line on another cruel joke. But his eyes aren't satisfied and cruel any longer. As I search them, they just look sad and a little guilty and a little tired. He kisses me, licking at my lips, reminding me of the last time. I can't take it anymore and break away, running, needing to get home before he strips my soul again. He lets me go. Before I dart around the corner, I look back and see him still standing there, arms hanging down at his sides, just looking after me.

 

\--

 

I walk to the next station so I don't have to cross his path, then I head for home. I sigh in relief as I finally go into my apartment and lock the door behind me. Too late I smell the smoke, and my hand fumbles at the lock as a stronger hand grasps my wrists and pulls me away from the door. He has a car. Of course he could get here before me. Of course he knows where I live now. How foolish of me.

He pulls me into the kitchen and sits me down at my table. He puts a bowl in front of me and fills it with ice cream, the tops it with fudge, and caramel, and pecans. He sits next to me and puts a spoonful to my mouth, watching patiently. I slowly eat it, though I'm having trouble swallowing. I don't understand. He takes a spoonful and puts it in his mouth, even though I know he hates sweets. He leans forward and kisses me, pushing chocolate and cold cream and caramel into my mouth with his tongue. We lick each other clean. 

He pulls back a little and looks at me and hands me the spoon. I look at it, and I look at him. Once again I'm weeping and he holds me on his lap, chiding me for all my crying. He doesn't say anything else, because I fall asleep, but when I wake up the next morning he's lying there sleeping next to me. Our lovemaking that day was as satisfying as I'd ever dreamed.

It takes a while for things to become more normal for us. We've both had our shells for so long. But we make a point of stopping for ice cream at a place down the street every so often, to remind ourselves to never hide important things away again. So far it's working. I don't know if things will ever be easy between us. But far easier together than apart.

 

~end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asami's POV of this is in Turtles 2, which will be posted some time this week.


End file.
